


(I Go Around and Around) I Always End Up With You

by thymia



Category: Midsommar (2019)
Genre: Crazy Swedish Enigma, Dani and Christian and everyone else end up being named, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, UPDATED: JUNE 19th 2020, dani + christian aren't named but are mentioned and heavily referred to, emotional bond, lyrics as titles, pelle isn't named until the third chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22414132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thymia/pseuds/thymia
Summary: In which Pelle is quite unsettling and you come to appreciate that more than you know what to do with.
Relationships: Dani Ardor/Christian Hughes, Pelle (Midsommar)/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 78





	1. Tell Me Any Answer I Don't Care if It's a Lie

**Author's Note:**

> Titles taken from lyrics.  
> First Chapter Title: Unreleased lyric from Blue Spotted Tail - Fleet Foxes  
> Work Title: Total Mess - Rozwell Kid

The day is unremarkable, and that’s fine, really, you have nothing better to do than this. You sit slumped into the arm of your couch playing Mortal Kombat with a friend of a friend, a guy that while you don’t know him too well this isn’t your first time alone with him. You know well enough those angelic looks of his certainly betray how much he kicks ass at this game. You glance over at him just in time to see his tongue poke from his lips in concentration, a look that soon spreads to smug joy as his eyes flick over to you. You look back to the tv screen as he beats you, and all you can do is throw back the rest of your coffee and start again. You try to concentrate on the game, but you find yourself zoning out and getting lost in the floaty folk music that you let him put on. You consider him an enigma as he finishes you again, throwing his head back in a peal of victorious laughter, you laugh too as you flip him off on your way to the bathroom.

Crazy Swedish Enigma, you mentally conclude as you find him making himself a cup of tea in your kitchen. Your kitchen that you weren’t even sure you kept tea in, must be your roommate’s. You shift past him, popping in a coffee pod into the maker as he starts going on about some summer trip he’s taking with his group of friends. You aren’t totally listening one hundred percent, something about going home and festivities and then you hear your name and look up from the coffee maker to properly address him. “Say what?”

“You should come with, I said. It’d be a once in a lifetime experience, you won’t find this anywhere else!” The smile he’s giving you over his mug is just this side of creepy. You always thought him quite odd, heritage aside, he never quite seemed to belong here, in the group of friends he’s made for himself, the hard heads and the pretentious types. He’s closer now, leaning on the counter beside you as he presents his phone to you. He obviously belongs there, smiling on a backdrop of green grass and blue skies, alongside loved ones that share his face. You have a single photo of him and his group on your phone, taken one late fall eve, he’s in the middle, backdrop of a misty night and a motel sign that seemed humorous at the time, you find that more appropriate somehow.

You ooh and ahh as he continues to swipe past countless photos, gushing about just how lovely it is and crooning his longing to be home again, you smile, nod and try not to yawn. “I’ll think about it.” You try to say with your best “done with it” voice as you head back to the living room.

“It’s a yes or no question,” He won’t leave it be, following right behind, not taking any hints. You sink into the couch, really not wanting to be a part of this conversation, really wanting to zone out and lose yourself to the folk music that’s less gentle acoustic guitar and more beating drums and clashing cymbals than before matching just how forceful and passionate he’s gotten over the subject. “You decide now. Stay or go. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it, but if you don’t you will not have to stay any longer than you wish to. We’d make sure of it.” He says, giving you that unsettling smile again and you can’t look away, he’s got a hold of your hands and is maintaining eye contact. You struggle to find something to say that doesn’t betray how unnerved you are, try not to burst into a fit of nervous laughter and call the offer ominous.

You resist the urge to sigh and crumple under his steady, unwavering gaze. “Okay, okay, I’ll come with.” You couldn’t promise you wouldn’t somehow come up with some sort of commitment twenty four hours beforehand though, but his insistence kind of tells you he wouldn’t let you say no.

The grin falls slightly, more friendly and less menacing. “I’m so happy you said that,” He mumbles, letting go of your hands in favor of wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. “It means so much to me.” His voice is a whisper now and he presses his face into your neck, and you place your hands on his back and set your chin on his shoulder, so you can slyly grab a drink of your coffee. The music has slowed and calmed again, and you set your cup down, deciding to enjoy the moment as it is, no matter how odd it is.


	2. MadTV With the Sound Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from: MadTV - Rozwell Kid  
> Heavily inspired and written around that song.

You see him more over the next couple of months; he starts coming over more often. Usually, it's the weekend, and you have no one else to hang out with, and he is more than happy to take you up on the offer. Which, maybe that by itself, is odd, his eagerness to hang out with you at every opportunity. You tell yourself he just wants to get to know you better.

He comes over to play games usually, he likes having movie nights too, other times, he comes over just to hang out and talk. God, does he love talking, it isn't like he just likes to hear himself talk either, he listens as much as he talks. It's far easier for you to let him go on about whatever topic he's picked because you're certainly no conversationalist. You can't deny zoning out on him, though.

You find yourself back on your couch, slumped into the arm, playing MK again. You find yourself drifting and losing focus. You find yourself gazing at him, tongue out and face scrunched in concentration again, head bobbing to your music, which is vastly different from his folk, alt-rock full of heavy drums and guitar riffs. He seems to like it, oddly enough, then again, he is a Crazy Swedish Enigma. A Crazy Swedish Enigma who catches you looking when he finishes you, he laughs low under his breath as he bumps your shoulder with his, calling you a mess as another round starts. You don't have any coffee this time, so you just curl closer to the couch as you try to focus and get a win in for once.  
You do somehow, and somehow you don't quite think it was exactly a fair win, he's far better than you at this game, so you think he let you win. Regardless, he laughs again and bumps your shoulder again as he gets up and goes off to the bathroom, leaving you to wander to the kitchen. You yawn searching through the cabinets.

He shuffles up behind you, so light on his feet and quiet, you don't hear him approach. “What're you looking for?” He mumbles, and holy shit is it way more terrifying than you know he meant it to be.

You wrench yourself away from the cupboard, hitting your head on the shelf on the way out. “Fuck, dude! You scared the shit out of me, don't do that!” You scold, swatting his chest, and he just laughs it off.

“It sounds like you should lay off the coffee, so jumpy,” He laughs again, setting a hand on your shoulder and gently directing you to sit at the kitchen table. “How about you try some of my tea! I've got a huge supply from back home!” He chirps, scurrying back to the living room. Then...It wasn't your roommate's tea he was drinking before? It's somehow weirder that he brings his own tea everywhere. He's always brought a satchel with, and like any normal person, you never questioned what was in it, now you can't help but wonder what all he carries around.

He comes back just as quick as he went, carrying with him one of those big gallon bags, half full with bits of leaves and flowers that make tea, of course. “I can't wait for you to try it!” He says, setting it on your counter and going through your cupboards like it's his own home. Crazy Swedish Enigma, you remind yourself. You also remind yourself of how he called you a mess when he caught you staring at him, and quickly cast your eyes up and away from him as he sits at the table with you.  
He sets his chin on his hands and looks like he's really interested when he asks you how you're doing. He looks interested even when you shrug the question off and deflect with a simple “Oh, you know me, I'm never up to much.” He smiles and accepts that at face value. He doesn't press the subject, doesn't ask you to be specific. You're glad for that. You don't think you could come up with much else to say. He turns the subject to himself, to what he's been up to. It's better that way you think, and you're no conversationalist after all.

You have grown to enjoy listening to him, his voice is soft, and his accent is interesting. He tells you about what happened at a friend's party last weekend, and how “It was so crazy!” it's fun hearing him say that set of words. The water comes to a boil in the kettle, and he gets up to attend to it. Your roommate comes in while he's preparing the tea, and he offers her some. She declines, saying she's just there to pick up her lunch, and she gives you a look as she leaves that you just know implies her displeasure with him being over again, you just smile and tell her to have a nice day.

He presents you with a mug of the tea as he sits at the table with you again. He starts explaining what's in it, as you stare at your reflection, distorted and yellowish in the tea. “Jasmine, chamomile, raspberry leaves, and...well all sorts of plants and such!” He says, and you sniff it before taking a sip. It's fine, it's tea, and you're not a tea person. You'll drink it though, if just because of how happy it makes him to share this with you.  
He's always so open and eager to share with you. Be it his experiences, his time, even food and drink apparently. It's refreshing to have someone like that in your life, most of your friends are so closed off from other people, and you are too. Just as selfish and stuck in your own head as anyone else. It's good to have him around; you're a better person for it, you think he's brought you out of your shell. You're not as afraid of intimacy and closeness as you were before you met him. You don't flinch when he brings his hand up and sets it upon yours on the table as he talks.

The minutes between you two turn to hours; when you finish your cup, he asks if you want a refill and humoring him, you agree. Humoring him turns to actually enjoying the tea and having five full mugs of it. Maybe it's the chamomile that's making you sleepy, or maybe one of the ingredients he didn't name. You're leaning more towards the latter because chamomile has never made you this drowsy. It's not that you don't trust him, it's just that you're kind of regretting drinking five full mugs of unknown Swedish tea.  
It's hours later, your roommate must be home from work by now, but he's still here. You know that because when you jerk yourself awake, you find you're tucked up against his side, back in the living room, on the couch. It's later now, the music's off, and he's watching some old sketch comedy show with the volume turned low.

You shake the sleepies off and are about to apologize for falling asleep on his shoulder. Your words catch in your throat when you glance up to him and see the fond look he's giving you. You can just hear him telling you not to worry, but with a smile, he pulls you close, and you find there really is nothing to worry about. You settle back into him, and you know, sooner or later, he'll have to leave, but for right now, there's nowhere you'd rather be.


	3. Everybody in This Restaurant Thinks That I've Lost My Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from UHF on DVD - Rozwell Kid  
> Again heavily inspired and written around the song in question.

You're in love with him; it's always been there in the back of your head, that subtle fondness for him. You've also always kind of thought he harbored some form of a crush on you, but you always told yourself that couldn't be the case. The realization hits you like a sack of bricks to the chest. It hits you shortly after the last time you hung out together. After you changed his name in your phone from Crazy Swedish Guy to Pelle, when you started calling him by his actual name in your head. It hit you during an outing with him and the couple your roommate knows; they're just The Girlfriend and The Boyfriend to you, though.

Even sitting there in the booth beside him, you weren't sure if you were one of two training wheels or if this was a strange sort of double date. The man on the other side of the booth had his arm around his long-term girlfriend, the man beside you wouldn't touch you, besides the way he's sitting wide, pressing his thigh into yours. It is then, watching him laugh and cough around a mouthful of food that you realize you've fallen in love with him. And fuck is that weird realization to make in a Chili's on a not quite double date, with a friend of a friend of a friend, a man you only started to get to know in the last few months and don't even know his last name. It all comes crashing down on you at once, sending you into a terrible anxious tizzy, and all you know is you have to get out of the booth. Now.

“I...I gotta,” You interrupt yourself with a sharp, shuddering breath before continuing. “Bathroom...” You finally manage to say, tapping his shoulder with the palm of your hand. He quickly extracts himself, letting you slide out and rush off. You almost crash into another customer in your blind rush to the bathroom, and that just makes you feel all that worse.

You slam into the bathroom, slipping into a stall to try to calm down. Try to stop the terrible, shaking panic attack, realizing you're in love has thrown you into. Of all things to have an attack over it's love, how silly, you think. You're grateful you still have your phone in your pocket, you don't know what you'd do if you left it at the table. You manage to find your roommate's number and call her, balancing the phone on one trembling hand, pressing the other against the dip of your throat, feeling your own racing pulse under the skin.

“I'm freakin' out, dude, I'm having a fucking panic attack!” You say as soon as she picks up.

“Whoa, whoa, wait, slow down, what's going on, what happened?”

You try to take a few deep breaths before responding. “I don't know! I'm on this weird not double date, with the Swedish guy and that couple. That's fuckin' weird by itself and like...halfway through the meal then someone makes him laugh, and out of nowhere it hits me like a fucking freight train, the thought “holy shit I love him.” I can't fucking handle it; I'm gonna start crying!” You howl into the phone, trying desperately to calm down, to slow your breathing, and stop the hiccupping sobs.

“Do you want me to come pick you up? I can call an Uber and drive you back.” She offers, and you're so close to taking her up on the offer.

“No, no, I can't do that! Cutting out in the middle of the meal? That'd be so shitty...” You mutter, raking a hand through your hair.

“Okay, if you think so. Just play it cool, act like nothing happened. We can discuss it later.” She says, so calm, and you're grateful for her patience.

“Yeah, okay...Okay, I'll try,” You say, scrubbing a hand over your face. “I don't want to worry them; I've been in here long enough. I gotta go.”

“You'll be fine. See you later, okay.” She says, and you hang up. You wash your face and manage to put yourself back together mostly. You give yourself a silent pep talk in the mirror, hyping yourself up enough to go back out there. You exit the bathroom only to run into Pelle.

“Hey! I was just coming to see how you were, you've been in there a while, and we were getting worried,” He said, and glanced back to where your table was. “Well, I was worried. They weren't.”

“Oh, that's..Uh, thanks, I'm fine though. It's...I'm sorry.” You say, trying to give him a convincing smile, hoping with all your might that he can't somehow read minds and find out you had a minor breakdown over the realization you're in love with him. You also hope he can't read minds for the fact the single thought “i love you” repeating is the only thing in yours. He considers you for a moment before nodding and starts back toward the table.

“I'm sorry I took off like that!” You say to the couple as you slide back into your seat. You see The Boyfriend roll his eyes and The Girlfriend shoots him a look. Everything picks up like normal luckily, though the anxious pit in your stomach has caused you to lose your appetite. The guys end up having a short argument over who's going to pay, but they settle it eventually.

They try to pressure you into a to-go box because you hardly touched your food. You just want to get out of there, panicking you make excuses and apologize as you try to leave. You're fine, you promise, even though two thirds of the party are worried about you. You feel horrible, ditching everyone like that. You feel like you're going to pass out or throw up and hope to God you don't do both because you don't want to aspirate on your own vomit. So, you pitch forward and plant your hands on your knees as you try to get your bearings straight and calm down enough to drive. Pelle's hand stroking your back isn't comforting like it's supposed to be, isn't thrilling like you hoped having his hands on you would be.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry...Fuck,” You gasp and wheeze under the pressure of the anxiety in your chest. “I just...Gimme a moment...I'm sorry.” There's no coming back from this, and that makes it worse. The couple is watching from afar, and that makes it worse. He's still got his hand on your back, and that makes it worse.

So much for playing it cool, you tell yourself. Good going, this is your second panic attack of the night, over what, you ask yourself, a boy? How ridiculous. You manage to laugh at yourself over it, at least. It comes out sounding more like this awful wheezing sob, and that's when you realize you've started crying again. Pelle's pulled you into his arms, tossing his keys to The Boyfriend, so he could take Pelle's car, and Pelle would drive you back.

You two remain like that for a good five minutes, just embracing each other and fucking sobbing it all out. You're fairly certain he's crying too, somehow? You can't quite hear over your own hiccupping sobs, and he's got his face pressed into the collar of your coat. Soon, it ceases, and all you can do is mutter half a dozen more apologies. You can see it now, now that he's pulled back from you, hands on your shoulders. The tear tracks running down his face, and you can't help but feel bad. 

Wheezing out a confused laugh, you find you're able to speak more than two words at a time. “You're crying, why are you crying?” You palm at his face, clumsily wiping at his tears with your thumbs. Even through all the panic and tears, you do still love him very much.

“Because you were crying,” He says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. “Where I'm from we share everything. Even the pain.”

And yeah, he's right, you can't cry anymore, he's sapped it out of you. “I've got too much inside for you to do that...” You murmur with absolute adoration.

He smiles, and strokes your face, mirroring your hold on him. “I don't care. I'll take it,” He says, and it hits you again, the knowledge that you have indeed fallen in love with him. It's not as hard or sharp as it was before; it's softer. Comes as a gentle sigh and not a punched out gasp. “Let me drive you home.”

You hand him your keys, and he helps you into the passenger seat, though you truly don't need it. The ride is fairly quiet, neither of you speak, the only sounds being the wind rushing past the slightly opened window and the CD you've got in the player. At a stoplight, he puts his hand over yours and gives you a smile, and you know you're almost there.


	4. There's Nicer Shores in Sight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title chapter from So Long to the Headstrong - Fleet Foxes

“Are you excited for Sweden? We leave in a week!” Pelle chirps from your kitchen, where he's as always, preparing tea for the both of you. He seems to be over so much recently. You've stopped trying to come to terms with your affection for him; it's useless to try.

You stop channel surfing and hesitate before you speak. “Oh, shit, that's coming up, huh? Totally forgot about it.” You hope he can't tell you're lying when you say that.

“Well, you've got a week to pack and prepare!” He says, and hands you your mug of tea, taking a seat beside you.

You sigh and set your mug on the table. “About that, I uh, I'm actually going to be in Delaware in a week's time.”

“Oh, really? What's going on?” He asks, gently taking the remote from your hands and turning the tv off. 

“I got a job there, accounting at a law firm, supposed to start next month. I'm so sorry I can't come with.”

He sips from his mug, thinking about what you said. “That's alright. I wish you could come with regardless.”

You think he is trying to guilt-trip you, but you won't let it work. “I know,” You say with a gentle smile, taking his hands in yours when he sets his mug down. “I wish I could come too; I really do, I know how much this trip means to you. You can tell me all about it when you get back, though.”

He seems to deflate slightly, sighing as he turns his hands over and laces his fingers in yours. “I don't know,” He mumbles. “The only way to truly experience it is to be there...”

“...You aren't coming back, are you,” It took a moment for it to sink in, the way he's acting now, the way he's always acted around you. “What goes on during your pagan midsummer festival?”

“You wouldn't want to know, and I'm not really supposed to tell you. It's not all nice, a lot of it is quite gruesome actually,” He's still avoiding your eyes until he isn't, and he's looking you head on, holding your hands close to his chest. “I wouldn't have invited you if it meant I had to see you harmed, know that.”

You nod, even with how vague he's being, you feel you understand that gist of what he's getting at. You do know distantly; how strange pagan religions are. You're not sure what to say, you're not sure what will happen to the others he's bringing along like he said though, you don't want to know.

You let your eyes drift to where he still held your hands in his, and all you want to do is tell him you love him. You want so very badly to pull him close, to wrap your arms around him and tell him over and over how much you love him. You also want to tell him of how you do wish you could go to Sweden with him, how you want to experience his culture with him no matter how strange and gruesome it may be, how you want to be a part of it no matter if it brings harm to you, as long as he's there you know it couldn't be so bad.

Instead, you pull one hand back to thump it to your mouth when realize you're about to start crying because again, you're far too overcome with emotion to keep it all inside. Because, fuck, there's not a worse feeling than loving someone and not being able to tell them because you know you won't ever see them again. The feeling of realizing too fucking late hurts, it manifests as an ache in the chest, much like heartburn, but you've barely eaten today.

He eases your hand away from your mouth, taking it gently in his own as he leads you off the couch and onto the big rug on the floor. “Look at me, look at me, it's okay,” He braces his hands on your shoulders, maintaining eye contact. “Breathe with me; just breathe.” You find yourself grabbing him in return, holding onto the sleeves of his sweater as you breathe with him. You can't stop yourself from crying, though you know his goal wasn't for you to not cry. It just feels awful, you hate crying normally, but having someone else cry with you just doesn't feel right.

Just crying turns to those terrible heaving, wailing sobs you wanted to avoid, the sort he wants to cultivate. You're just glad your roommate is out right now, or this would be even more embarrassing than it is. Crying like a child in front of someone you have fallen quite deep in love with, someone you'll most likely never see again after this. Knowing that you let it all out, every single “I love you,” “I’m sorry” and “I don’t want to leave you” comes spilling out in a mess of tears.

This is the worst scenario to be confessing yourself to the one you love. The two of you just utterly pitiful together, relentlessly sniffling as the tears keep coming. Finally saying “I love you” when it's too late when you don't know what's going to happen to him, but you know you want nothing more than to be there with him.

He leans close, resting his forehead on yours once the crying dies down. You drop your hands to your lap, letting one brush against his knee as he takes your face in his hands, wiping at your tears with his thumbs. “It's okay. It'll all be okay. Please, please don't worry about me.” He murmurs, pulling one hand back to scrub at his own wet cheeks.

“I know...I just wish so badly I could come with. I know I'm better off, I know...” You sigh and wipe your nose.

“When do you leave?” He asks.

“Day after tomorrow.”

“We've got one more day left together, then. It's not so bad. We'll make it count; I know it.” He says, voice soft and light. He's even smiling. You nod and smile back, because he's smiling, because you know he's right because you've got nothing else to say.

You could be worse off, and you know that. But you're here with him, and truly there's nowhere else you'd rather be. You don't really want to know what gruesome activities a pagan midsummer festival might contain; you don't really want to see your friends potentially harmed. If you stayed, it'd all be too much to acclimate to, to get used to, this burden sharing thing of his is strange enough as it is.

One good day might be all you get, but you know you'll be better off staying in America.


	5. [Instrumental]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Alternate Ending] MC goes to Hårga and has a dreadful time.  
> New chapter for Summer of 2020  
> Named [Instrumental] due to lack of actual dialogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hastily written over the span of a few hours, forgive me.

Pelle tells you that you only need to pack a week's worth of necessities, that the festivities only last a little over a week. You might have made the mistake of ordering one of those big bags of gummy bears because they ended up taking up too much room in your carry on. They give everyone something to pick at during the trip though. He also advised to bring light summery clothes, you went out and bought some specially for the trip. You even had the bright idea to bring a first aid kit and some bug spray because Sweden apparently had a tick problem. Who knew? Not you until you researched it.

Dani was supposed to come, but she and Christian had a falling out shortly before the trip. You're not sure what it was about, something petty probably. They've always had this weird sort of on and off relationship. Sure, you're all college students, but you're also all approaching your thirties, so you think they're a little old to be having such a relationship. You wish she'd have come with too; you wouldn't be the only female in this sausage party.

You're also not so sure where you stand with Pelle, neither of you really ever discussed the Chili's incident. He doesn't hold it against you at least, didn't revoke your invite to the festival. Even now, you still kind of wish you had some way to get out of doing this, going to a foreign country, with several men you don't like, to partake in a strange pagan festival, suffice to say you're not exactly in your comfort zone here. 

On the way there you end up squished between Mark and Christian, on both the plane and in the car Pelle rents. You learn that Mark is actually a pretty funny guy, you wish he'd lay off the vape though. Your opinions on Christian and Josh don't change. Christian is still rude and insensitive and Josh is still a pretentious tryhard. And they all talk way too much about movies. 

Nerves set in when you actually get to the commune, Pelle introduces everyone to his family and you remember none of their names. One of the first things one of the Swedish dudes does is offer the group drugs, you fake it and slip it into your pocket and watch on as everyone but Pelle has bad trips. You straight-up passed out when Pelle gave you his drugged up tea, you know better now than to trust Swedes who pass out unknown substances. 

It all comes to a terrible head when you watch the elders throw themselves from a cliff, and no matter how many Hårgans try to comfort you, you cannot stop retching. You do take some drink from a woman who assures you (in broken English) that it's some sort of antiemetic, at first you misheard her and thought she said antisemitic. That was awkward. The effects of the drink were dreadful, you stopped vomiting but the next three days were like some awful out of body experience.

Luckily Pelle accompanied you for most of the blur. You vaguely remember sobbing at one point about wanting to go home and Pelle's attempt at comforting you was awful, you have no idea where his ability to soothe has gone but you know you were crying alone one moment and the next you were joined by him shoving a small stone in your face. You stopped crying only because this bit he was pulling was so hilariously inappropriate you couldn't help but laugh.

At another point some of the women noticed your listlessness around the commune and invited you to help out in the kitchen, you went willingly, still feeling entirely off and wrong and just generally alone in all of this. You've a weird feeling that the guys are for some reason jealous of how easily you've been accepted in. One night before bed you could overhear Mark ranting and raving to Pelle about how it isn't fair, and how he was promised hot Swedish sex. The next day he unknowingly takes a leak on some ancestral tree, and you don't see him again after that. 

Josh disappears sometime after that too, you've lost count of how long you've all been there, feels longer than a week, though it can't be. Pelle's brother brought in outsiders too and they're gone too, must have asked to leave... Though, you don't think that is very fair, Pelle said you could leave any time you wanted when he first brought this whole thing up, and you've whined about leaving on several occasions and each time he convinced you to stay. The other outsiders got to leave and you didn't.

You quit trying to be discerning about what you consumed here a good while ago, so you give no complaint when another mystery drink was offered to you before the maypole celebration. You wished you were better with names because there was this very kind woman who did this clever arm thing with you as you both downed your drinks. She also happened to be right beside you during the dance, when you began understanding and speaking Swedish? That didn't make sense, but what did at this point?

You started to disassociate again, you knew you had thought the competition was rigged because soon enough everyone was cheering and lifting you up and calling you May Queen. Pelle kissed you at one point even. They hauled you about in reverence, you helping them plant something? God, you couldn't tell what was going on.

You were at the head of the table for once, assuming the role of leader. It was fine until a woman came approached you suddenly with a whole fish telling you about good luck and trying to slip it down your gullet. What was that? Surstromming? All you knew was you couldn't bear to eat it and felt like you were about to vomit again, and then everyone started laughing at you. You couldn't count the number of dreams that ended in a crowd laughing at you so you genuinely could not tell what was real or not at this point. 

The festival concluded just as it had started: With even more sacrifices. They interpreted your fatigued blinking and confused head movements for an indication you wanted to sacrifice Christian. Which, no skin off your nose, you weren't sure if he'd be let home even if you decided on a local. You knew Dani was better off without him though. 

You were exhausted at this point because the Hårgans had insisted on dressing you in a heap of flowers, it was hot and heavy under the hundreds of blooms. And so as everyone else was wailing and thrashing about in shared pain you too wailed, only in frustration. Overheated and feeling utterly crushed and you struggled to shed the flowers, to pull yourself from the obsessive vines, they felt alive somehow. You caught everyone's attention as you tumbled down the wooden platform and knocked your head on one of the steps with one final desperate, pained cry. Leaving you unconscious and bleeding on the wood in a pile of greenery as most Hårgans stared in shock, a few rushed to help.

Whatever had you gotten yourself into?


End file.
